


The Road Leads Home

by Lumelle



Series: Contractual Obligations [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Dwarves, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentioned Gimli/Legolas Greenleaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is dead, safe and sound in the Halls of Ancestors. Bilbo, being a Hobbit, would ordinarily be unable to reach him again -- but surely a burglar who braved a dragon can find his way anywhere. With some cunning and a lengthy contract with a dwarf, Bilbo has found his way to a place he never should have been able to reach -- but now he has find out whether Thorin returns his feelings or if his efforts have been in vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Leads Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Christmas present for my little sister (who has very good taste in pairings).

As he first woke up, Bilbo thought for a moment he had merely fallen asleep outside.

It wouldn't have been the first time by far. Naps were far from a foreign concept for Hobbits, and he had been indulging in them more and more frequently as his age advanced. And here it was so very easy to be lulled into sleep, enjoying the bright sunshine and the singing of birds one might have never heard elsewhere, with nothing but time and peace at his hands. And then later he would awaken, feeling slightly more rested and suddenly hungry, and get to his feet again for a leisurely walk back just in time for dinner.

It became clear within seconds, however, that this was not one of his afternoon naps. For one thing, there was no soft grass under his back, only cold, hard stone, smooth under his hand as he made to push himself up, blinking at the dim light. There was the flicker of a fire somewhere farther away, casting shadow and light along the large hall he had just found himself in, but doing little to warm the cool air that nevertheless failed to be uncomfortably cold.

Blinking, he made to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes, pausing as he realized it was thick and brown instead of thin and white. A look down at himself revealed clothes he hadn't worn in decades, yet remembered with the utmost clarity, thanks to all the time he had spent in that same outfit.

"Well," he murmured, slowly getting up to his feet and brushing some dust off his clothes. It was nice, being able to move without aches and soreness again. "I guess it worked, then."

"And what would it be that worked?" The response made him jump, his eyes flitting over to the direction of the voice. There was a dwarf standing in a doorway, looking at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And who might you be?"

"Uh." This was going to be wonderful to explain, wasn't it? Hopefully it wouldn't be as difficult as distracting three very hungry trolls.

Knowing dwarves as he did, it would be much more difficult than that.

"That's no dwarf I've ever seen." Another dwarf arrived now, frowning at him as well. "My daughter had more hair on her face before she was out of diapers!"

All of a sudden the hallway started to fill with dwarves, each attracted by the sight of others having found something interesting, all starting to talk and mutter and ponder at the sight of him. Countless dwarves, all unknown to him, with frowns and glares and beards done up in elaborate braids, in clothing and armor of various styles and makes. Bilbo was no expert on dwarf gear, but he was nevertheless sure he could spot the styles of several kingdoms just in the front row.

Definitely worked, then.

Just as he was starting to worry he would be thrown in a cell somewhere if he didn't get his tongue unstuck at once, there was a commotion that rose above the general noise of the crowd. The dwarves at the front were forced to step aside as someone forced their way through the crowd.

"Bilbo!" He had just enough time to brace for impact before he was brought down to the ground where he had just gotten up from, the weight of an entire dwarf pressing him down to the ground. "It's really you!"

"Kíli," he managed to breathe, a tone of laughter entering his voice even as he fought to breathe. "Any chance you could let me up?"

"Oh, right! Sorry about that." His affectionate attacker got off him with a grin, then offered him a hand up. Over his shoulder Bilbo could see Fíli, standing but a few steps away, a smile on his face as well. They looked just as he remembered them, just as he chose to remember them, full of laughter and mischief rather than bloodied and broken on the battlefield.

"Fíli, Kíli. It's so good to see you," Bilbo breathed as he got his breath back at last. "It has been a long time."

"You're telling us," Fíli snorted. "You at least have been having all kinds of adventures without us, I bet."

"Not as many as I might wish, I'm afraid. I've left such things for others lately." Bilbo couldn't help a little grin. "Though just recently, I went farther than I could have ever dreamed of. And then, I came here."

"So it seems." Kíli gave him a broad grin. "You'd better have a good explanation for this, you know. With the way people were running down the corridor, you might have thought a troll had fallen in here instead of one little hobbit."

"Well, it is quite understandable," Fíli admitted. "After all, a little one or not, I'd think this is the first time there has ever been a hobbit in the Halls of Ancestors."

"So I actually did make it," Bilbo breathed. "I feared I might have been merely dreaming."

"Oh, you're here all right. And I think there's someone else here who would like to see you." Kíli's grin got even wider if possible. He turned a bit as there was some noise from the direction of the gathered crowd. "And that would be him, I imagine."

This time there was no pushing, the curious crowd parting of its own accord to create a path through the middle. Along this path walked another dwarf, with a straight back and broad shoulders, black hair streaked with silver the same color as the crown on his brow. He was clad in blues and silvers, his beard short and neat in contrast with the huge beards of everyone around him, and his bearing could only be described as regal.

It was good to see that Thorin had finally gotten his rightful title, even if it was far too late.

"Greetings, Thorin, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain," Bilbo said with a small bow, though he couldn't help the hint of a smile in his voice. "I hope I find you well."

"Never better in my life." Thorin came to a stop some ways from him, the faintest hint of an almost-smile on his lips. "I knew you were good at sneaking into places, burglar, but this is quite beyond what I thought even you capable of."

"To be honest, I wasn't quite sure this particular endeavor would succeed, either," Bilbo admitted. "However, I decided to approach it like a dwarf, and seem to have been met with success."

"I expect more of an explanation than that." Before Bilbo could say another word, Thorin had stepped closer, drawing him into a strong hug that once again forced the breath out of his lungs for a moment. A moment later, the tight grip gentled, though he was still being held close. "There will be plenty of time for your stories, though."

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, not that he was entirely sure what he would say, when his stomach decided to take the chance to growl rather loudly. He blushed to the tip of his ears, but Kíli and Fíli merely laughed, with even Thorin chuckling at him.

"Why am I not surprised that the hobbit is hungry? Come, we'll find you something to put into that belly of yours, and gather everyone to listen to your story." Finally letting go, Thorin turned toward the gathered dwarves, seeming rather unimpressed by their continued presence. "What is it? Go and amuse yourself somewhere else. The hobbit is my guest and no concern of yours."

The looks on some of the bearded faces told Bilbo there were some who might have protested at that, but none actually spoke against the King Under the Mountain, even if he was far from the only one with that title walking these halls. They dispersed, little by little, until the hallway was clear enough for Bilbo to be led down toward whatever destination Thorin had chosen for them. Fíli and Kíli slipped away at some point, probably to gather others Bilbo knew or to get some food, whichever way. He was too busy looking around himself to care much.

While he had stolen a glimpse at the grandness of Erebor, this went far beyond even it. The seemingly endless caverns reached far above what his eye could reach in the fire-lit shadows, vaults that could probably have housed small mountains filled with the sounds of countless dwarves going about their days, walking, talking, mining, smithing. He saw the glow of what had to be forges down one side corridor, the clang of metal against metal echoing thousandfold from the smooth walls, joined by the echoes of pickaxes up from the darkness of a tunnel leading down at the other side. He wasn't sure he would find any kind of an end, had he taken to wandering, or that he might have even told if he'd wandered about in a circle, too overwhelmed by the greatness of it all. Thankfully he didn't have to find his own way one way or another, Thorin's back right in front of him being a better beacon than the brightest lighthouse.

Thorin was quiet as they walked, which did not exactly surprise Bilbo. He was quite at a loss for words himself, not sure how to explain and what. There were things he had to tell Thorin, words he would have preferred to be for the king alone to hear, but at the same time he knew he had to tell everyone just how he had found his way into the hallowed halls of the dwarvenkind, he an outsider without even the slightest hint of a beard. They deserved that much, his old friends and companions as they were, and Thorin needed to know that part, too.

There would be a chance sooner or later, he knew. Hoped, at least.

He was led into a rather cozy room, with a smiling dwarf woman with thick black hair and a neat, braided beard doing something awfully fiddly with a bunch of gems at the end of a table, looking up in surprise as they stepped in. "Thorin? Who is your guest?"

"This would be the burglar I have told you about, ma," Thorin said, the hint of a smile on his face again. At the address Bilbo looked between them, seeing some degree of similarity in their features. "He is hungry as usual, is there anything I might put to the table before the others arrive to hear his tale?"

"Excuse me," Bilbo huffed, unable to stop the words before they were already out. "I am hungry as usual? Whose company was it that utterly plundered my pantry the first time they ever walked in?"

"They had been called for supper," Thorin replied, sounding almost amused. It was good, Bilbo decided, to see him so… relaxed, at last. He had never been this free of worries in his life, and Bilbo supposed it only made sense. "'Amad? Anything for the guest?"

"Go and see for yourself, you are a grown dwarf and he is your guest. I am busy, as you can see." The woman — Thorin's mother, as it appeared — gave a good-natured huff and then smiled at Bilbo. "No matter how much they grow, put them in the room with the mother and they are suddenly unable to find their own mouths with a map."

"To be fair," Bilbo replied, relieved to see none of the suspicion of the other strange dwarves on her face, "I do have the impression his sense of direction is not the best."

"It's served me well enough in the tunnels," Thorin grumbled, though Bilbo doubted he was actually offended. "It's hardly my fault if all your little hobbit holes look exactly the same."

"That is utterly untrue and I am appalled you would even say that." Bilbo sniffed, finally daring to take a seat at the table, watching Thorin's back through the open door to what he supposed was a kitchen of some kind. It was good to know that even dead dwarves knew the importance of a good meal. "Mine was at the time the only green door in sight!"

"Aye, the green door to a hole in a hillside full of holes." Thorin returned faster than Bilbo had expected, bearing a large plate of roasted meat and cheese and a goblet of what Bilbo soon found to be rather fine ale. "You are lucky I found my way there at all."

"Me lucky?" And yes, that had been the most fortunate night of his life, little though it had felt like that at the time. "Had you not made it there, you would have never had your burglar!"

"This is true." Thorin sat down opposite to him, watching as Bilbo started filling his empty stomach. "And that indeed would have been a loss."

Bilbo refrained from any further talking as he ate; it felt like it had been a full Age since his last meal, and besides he didn't want to be so rude. Thorin seemed to have little trouble with that, sitting there and watching him, glancing at the door on occasion. At some point his mother gathered her tools and excused herself, making way for the guests that soon started to pile in. Fíli and Kíli returned quickly, of course, flanking him at both sides, then Balin, who greeted Bilbo warmly as befitting an old friend. Óin and Ori were the last to arrive, and Bilbo had to admit to some relief as no more appeared. He hadn't been quite sure if others of the company had passed yet.

"So." Of course Kíli would be the one to lose his patience first. "Now that we're all here, you have to tell us how you came to reach the Halls."

"Why, in a way very suitable to enter a dwarven place." Bilbo took out a kerchief from his pocket, relieved to actually find one there, and patted at the corners of his mouth, his hunger sated for now. "I bought my way in."

"Bought your way in?" Thorin's eyebrows rose high. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

"In a way I thought you might approve of." Bilbo reached in the pocket of his coat, happy to find what he was looking for. "I made a contract with a dwarf, in which he agreed to grant me his passage to the Halls. To be fair, I had no idea if such a thing would even be possible, but since I got the blessing of both Gandalf and Lady Galadriel, I figured it might not hurt to try. And it's a good thing it worked, too, because it does seem I've passed on in my sleep. Always better than choking at dinner table. Dreadful business, that."

Balin snatched the contract right out of his hands, as he had expected, and stepped away from the table, starting to look through it. "You died?" Fíli echoed. "You must have been awfully old, then. Or did you get sick?"

"Just old age, I'm afraid." Bilbo shook his head. "Then, I did reach my 131st birthday before I left, so I even beat Old Took." He glanced around the table. "And not a word about how young that is. For a hobbit, it's a good, old age."

"Yet here you are, looking as young as when we first met." Ori gave him a shy smile, so familiar it made Bilbo ache on the inside.

"Indeed. This place seems to have done some good to me already." Bilbo shook his head. "Good thing, too. I don't think you would have thought much of old frail me."

"Eh, you'd have been our burglar all the same." Kíli grinned, patting him on the shoulder rather more forcefully than could have been strictly necessary. He figured it was only meant with affection, though, and besides he wasn't old and frail right now, thankfully.

"This seems to be as holding as one could make it," Balin commented, nose still in the contract. It wasn't quite as impressive as their first one, but then he'd had a lot less death and injury to list in the conditions. "But then, the fact that you are here would already bear proof of that."

"So someone actually traded their place in the Halls with you?" Thorin's frown had not let up. "Not to say I am not happy to see you, but what kind of a wretch would volunteer to give up that?"

"Not a wretch," Bilbo protested, feeling a bit indignant for such disparaging of the character of Frodo's friend. "He's a proud dwarf of Erebor, and of Durin's line besides."

"Durin's line?" Thorin frowned, while everyone else looked startled, with the exception of Balin, who had evidently made it to the end of the contract. "Who of Durin's line still remain in Erebor?"

"Oh, there are some," Balin replied. "This one might be of special interest, though." He spread the very end of the contract on the table for all to see, which immediately caused everyone else to lean in closer. Bilbo didn't bother; he'd seen it often enough. There was his own name, just like there had been in another contract so long ago, and the fine print of Galadriel herself as a witness, and then the last name, the one now causing such a fuss.

"Gimli, son of Glóin," Óin read aloud. "My nephew did that?"

"Indeed." Bilbo nodded. "He had won some favor with Lady Galadriel, so she agreed to stand witness to it. With her magic and Gandalf's, we had the best chance at succeeding."

"Why would he do something like that?" Ori asked, a shocked look on his face. "Has he lost his mind?"

"Well, it's Óin's fault, in any case," Kíli said with certainty. "He's the one who dropped Gimli on his head when he was born, poor lad."

"Nothing like that." Bilbo glanced at Thorin, then quickly back at the contract in Balin's hands, not sure how to read Thorin's expression. Not sure he wanted to see how it would change soon. "Far as I figure, he did it for the same reason as I offered the trade."

"And that would be?" He could feel Thorin's eyes on him even without looking, sharp and piercing, and a shiver ran down his spine.

"For the love of a king."

There was a momentary silence. Then several questions were offered at once, his ears latching onto the loudest — Kíli, to the surprise of none. "And what king would he love?"

"Well, it was a prince when I last saw them, but I would expect that to change eventually, if it has not already." Bilbo drew a deep breath. "Gimli has chosen to spend his life at the side of Legolas Thranduilion."

If anything, the noise was even louder now. There was, Bilbo noticed, no word from Thorin, but that was probably for the better. He didn't want to hear what Thorin would have had to say about that.

"An elf?" Óin demanded as the noise quieted down a bit. "He sold his place in the Halls so he could remain with an elf? And Thranduil's son at that?"

"So he could remain with the one he loved," Bilbo corrected. "As part of the contract, Lady Garadriel granted him passage to the Undying Lands when they choose to depart."

"And what will he do there?" Fíli asked. "What will he do anywhere, if he can't come here?"

"See, there lies the beauty of it." Bilbo allowed his lips to curve into a smile. "With me here in his place, he cannot pass on here, and being a dwarf, he cannot go where the other mortals would pass. According to Gandalf, having had his passage forward revoked, along with leaving to dwell in the Undying Lands, he may become as close to immortal as a dwarf could ever hope to be."

"And if that does not happen?" Ori asked, his voice serious. "What if he does die, and has nowhere to go?"

"He is a dwarf of Durin's line, and has found the one he wishes to remain with," Bilbo replied. "I trust him to be stubborn enough to stay healthy and hale until the next world."

"It is not that simple, though," Thorin said, his voice quiet but cutting through all other noise, everyone else hushing. "If love and stubbornness alone were enough, I would not have passed when I did."

"Aye, but the lad has also employed magic," Balin pointed out. "And whatever your thoughts on elves, nobody has ever denied that the Witch has more than ample power at her disposal. If he has, against all odds, gained her favor, he might be able to do it."

"Enough of that." Now, the weight of Thorin's stare forced Bilbo to look at him at last. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes boring deep down into Bilbo's very soul. "Whatever his fate, we can do little about it, and Glóin is still there to keep an eye on his son. What I am more interested in is Bilbo's reason for making such a trade."

"Oh, right." Fíli blinked. "You said you had the same reason."

"I did." Bilbo steeled himself. This could go entirely wrong, but… he trusted it would not. "But while Gimli wished to cheat death to stay with his beloved king-to-be… for me, death was the only way to his side."

"Right." Why did Kíli sound so matter-of-fact? "I guess that's our cue to step out, eh, brother?"

"Indeed." Fíli stood up along with his brother. "Balin, Óin, Ori?"

To Bilbo's astonishment, the rest of the dwarves all rose as though by some prior agreement, bidding quick farewells before heading out of the room. Thorin didn't say anything, his eyes now locked at a far wall, expression unmoving. Bilbo was starting to fear the worst.

As the last of the other dwarves exited, though, Thorin sighed. "Meddling fools," he murmured. "Though then, that should not surprise me by now."

"What was that about?" Bilbo asked. "I mean… they all just left."

"To give us some privacy, I suppose." Thorin turned back to him, his eyes appearing darker than usual. "So. You made your way here to follow a king?"

"That's right." Bilbo refused to waver in front of Thorin. "Is that a problem?"

"Not as such, I don't think so." Thorin shook his head. "I'm merely wondering how many dwarven kings you know." There was something in his voice, a note of what seemed almost like… anguish, of some kind. As though he were in pain at the thought.

Bilbo might not have been the smartest hobbit ever to live, but he was not an actual idiot. "Oh, for the… you really think I came here for someone else?" Bilbo demanded. "That maybe I make a habit of following dwarf kings around until they die?"

"I wouldn't know, would I," Thorin murmured, not meeting his gaze. "You've lived a long while since I left Middle Earth."

"Yes, I have. Alone, mind you, with no dwarves to speak of aside from some occasional visits from old friends, and no family save for a relative's son I took in after he was orphaned." Bilbo shook his head. "You are the only king I have followed, Thorin. Only one I would."

"I was never a king, though. My crown was only given to me when I reached the Halls."

"You think that mattered one bit to any who followed you?" Bilbo stood up, leaning his hands on the table. "You think that mattered to me? I chose to follow Thorin Oakenshield, the rightful King Under the Mountain, not a crown."

"So it really was me?" The pain in Thorin's voice had turned into disbelief, now, and that made Bilbo hurt inside. "You… actually came here for me?"

"None other." His tone was quiet, still not entirely sure of how he would be received but quietly hopeful he wouldn't face too harsh rejection. "I came here to be with you."

"But why?" And he sounded like he honestly didn't know. "After everything I did and said —"

"All of which I already forgave you for," Bilbo interrupted him. "It doesn't matter anymore, Thorin. I didn't come here for the dwarf who hurt me, but for the king who gave my life purpose."

"You should not forgive me for such things." Thorin closed his eyes, the lines of his face tight. "Not like this."

"And why not? Whatever your follies regarding the whole Erebor business, I'd say you more than paid for them. I'm the one who got to live in peace and prosperity after stealing your Arkenstone."

"I did hire you as a burglar, though."

"And I doubt you wanted me to steal from you, or twist our contract as I did."

"If there is anything I have learned about you, my burglar, it is that twisting words and finding meanings is what you do best."

"Yes, well, it was quite useful when I was writing my book. The story of reclaiming Erebor and all that, such a terrible business, but it turned out well for most of us." On a moment of boldness, Bilbo reached over to touch one of Thorin's hands with his own. "I have no regrets, Thorin. Certainly no grudges I might carry against you."

"You should, though." And Elbereth, was there anything more stubborn than a dwarf? "You should be with your own."

"And what, die again of boredom? I'm afraid you quite spoiled me for peace and quiet, my king." Bilbo shook his head. "Mad Baggins, they used to call me, running off with dwarves to who who knows where. Raised Frodo all wrong, too, a Hero of Middle Earth and all the peoples of light, so unseemly. The only grudge I have with you is that I never had longer with you."

"You said you did it for the love of a king." And that part was finally sinking in, huh. "Is that true?"

"Is what true?" Bilbo asked. "I think we have already established that yes, I consider you a king."

"Indeed we have," Thorin replied. "Which is why it's the other part I am asking about."

"You mean, do I truly love you?" At Thorin's wordless nod, Bilbo finally allowed a smile to take over his face. "Ah, Thorin Oakenshield, your head is as thick as your shield. You think I would have defied the laws of the worlds themselves for anything less?"

"I just don't understand why."

"Yes, well, I intend to make it clear. At this point, however, there is one thing I need to know."

"And what is that?" As though he didn't know.

"What do you feel for me?" Because if his feelings weren't returned, all his risk and hope and worry might have been for naught, still.

Thorin was quiet for a long time, his eyes locked on the surface of the table. Finally, he looked at Bilbo. "A dwarf loves but once," Thorin said, his voice slow and steady. "For each of us, who might bother to look, there is but One who may complete us, created for each dwarf by Mahal himself."

There was a sinking feeling at the pit of Bilbo's stomach. Was this Thorin's way of letting him down easy? Maybe telling him he'd had and lost his love long before Bilbo was in the picture? "So, then…"

"For all these years now, I have had dwarves doubting I might have found my One, because surely Mahal's hand could not have been involved in the creation of a hobbit." Bilbo could hardly believe his ears. "But if you have been granted passage here, regardless of contracts and twists, that should be more than enough proof even for my grandfather that you are more than worthy of being called mine."

All the air left Bilbo's lungs at once, leaving him gasping before he could speak again. "You mean that… you…"

"You are my One, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin said, and though his voice was still low there was no hint of uncertainty there. "When I saw you here I wasn't sure whether to thank Mahal that I might see you again or curse his name for taunting me with the greatest prize I never could claim for myself."

"I am hardly worthier than Erebor." Bilbo's mouth felt dry.

"No, you are. For there have been other Kings Under the Mountain, and Mahal willing there will be many more still; Erebor was never mine alone, nor was it meant to be." Thorin stood up at last, walking around the table to Bilbo's side. "But you… I would make you mine, if you would allow it."

Bilbo reached out a hesitant hand, smiling as he found it taken in two strong ones. "Nothing would delight me more, my King."

"Good." Thorin brought his hand up and kissed the back of it, an incredibly gentle gesture for one as gruff as he was, the bristles of his ever-short beard tickling Bilbo's skin in a way that sent shivers through his spine. "The fool I was, casting you ever out of my reach."

"I don't blame you, with what I did."

"Oh, but I do. I have, for many a long year. After all, how was I to know if you had truly forgiven me, or only given gentle words to one lying on his deathbed?"

"Well, you are certainly not dying now," Bilbo pointed out. "And I still say my only quarrel with you is for leaving me behind."

"Trust me, that is one mistake I will never make again." His hand was let go, then, only for Thorin's strong arms to draw him close again, and then Bilbo found himself kissed quite out of any breath he might have had left.

He heard a rustle at the door, and a voice that might have been Kíli and a hissed response from someone else, and there would be a lot of that to deal with later, but that could wait. There were more important things to do, now.

He had finally come home, for the first time since he had closed the door of Bag-End behind him all those years ago, running off without even the time to pick up a kerchief.

This time, he was quite content to stay.


End file.
